


What the Forest Taught Me

by PazithiGallifreya



Series: Halordin & Badari [1]
Category: The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types, The Lord of the Rings Online
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-26
Updated: 2017-04-26
Packaged: 2018-10-24 10:51:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,153
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10740216
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PazithiGallifreya/pseuds/PazithiGallifreya
Summary: Elf boy meets dwarf girl.





	What the Forest Taught Me

**Author's Note:**

> This grew out of something I wrote years ago that was a fairly generic thing about two unnamed characters in Tolkien’s universe. [Ali](http://eomer.tumblr.com) and I have been working on it for a couple of days to finish a story about our characters Halordin & Badari, and how they met.
> 
> I don't actually imagine too many people will be terribly interested in a love story between two original characters, but if you like slightly dopey nature-boy elves and dwarf ladies with a bit of an attitude problem, this series might be for you...

He did not know where it came from. He could not understand its speech, although it did speak, often at length; its rough, low voice babbling like a mountain stream while they walked through the wood.

Why he had not simply set one of his hounds on it at first sight those weeks ago, scouting ahead of the rest of the company of Galadhrim soldiers, he was not sure, but something had stayed his hand as the creature had ducked behind the bole of a tree near a turn in the path ahead of him.

He’d waited, then, instead. Slowly it had edged around the tree, peeking at him fearfully, waiting for what it no doubt thought would be its death at his hands. Instead, he had beckoned to it, coaxing it out of hiding. He noted a rather lethal looking axe strapped to its back, but it did not seem inclined to reach for it, or he would have had no choice about its fate.

After some sort of internal deliberation, it finally stepped out and, in whatever wisdom it had possessed, bowed before him, spoke something, and reached out with with one hand, opening a fist to reveal a small, slightly crumpled leaf. He did not know what, if any, significance the gesture might have held, but he took the leaf, brushed his dark silver hair out of his face, and tucked it behind an ear. He took the bewildered dwarf firmly by the hand, heading back to where the others waited.

His companions had not been amused. They excused their healer’s antics on most occasions, when he would stop the entire company for days to examine plants he deemed useful, or to tend to injured creatures, but this was crossing a line. They were far enough away from Caras Galadhon that he could justify not killing it, but they had made it quite clear that if it betrayed them, if it were a spy, or treacherous in any way, it would be on his head.

It was ever at his heels from then on, a small shadow trailing behind him, clearly lost and out of its depth in these southernmost reaches of Mirkwood. It was leery as ever of the other Galadhrim, but soon grew to trust him, or appeared to. It would disappear only infrequently, presumably to relieve itself somewhere or another but too shy to do so in the open as he and his companions did (traveling with the same companions for centuries, sooner or later you simply stop caring overly much). But it would soon reappear and reattach itself to him immediately upon return. Sometimes it would reach up and take his hand, walking beside him like a child for hours, pulling him along in an almost demanding fashion.

Despite all misgivings, though, it had proven to be a steadfast companion against the orcs and uruks now pouring out of Dol Guldur, throwing itself heedless into throngs of the accursed enemies, the axe it carried hewing at them like kindling.

Even now, as it lay wounded and bleeding, it seemed to think little of its own life. There had just been too many of them. Halordin's companions were occupied with other uruks, and one of his hounds had already been slain by a brute's scimitar. Halordin himself had been in the grip of one uruk while another bore down upon him with a black blade; the dwarf had pulled him from the grasp of the first, twisting him away to safety, leaving itself poorly guarded.

“Leave the dwarf, it is dying anyhow. It is the lot of their kind to perish.”

His companions were impatient to move on, he knew. It was not safe to remain. He gave them a pointed look, reminding them that healing was one of his duties, and he would perform it whether the creature be animal, elf, or even dwarf, and knelt down to pick up the injured dwarf. It groaned softly and pressed its face into his breast, its breath coming quick and shallow.

He walked behind the rest of his companions. One or another would occasionally glance back at him, reproach in the glint of their eyes in the dark. Soon they would stop to rest in a secluded spot and he could tend to the dwarf resting fitfully in his arms. The blood pouring from a ragged cut over its ribs had abated, but the sharp metallic scent of it was as strong as ever.

They pushed through an unseen gap in the trees and shrubbery, descending into a small pool formed by a stream falling over an outcropping of stone. Stars shone through a circular gap in the boughs over them. There was still a slight chill to the air, yet they would not dare to build a fire tonight.

The disapproving eyes of his companions followed him as he adjusted his grip on the dwarf. He retreated into a crevice in the stone wall, shielding himself and his burden from their curiosity and disdain alike, laying the dwarf down carefully. He took a small knife from his boot and began to cut away the layers of  blood-soaked cloth and leather that were clinging its wounds.

It looked up at him, the fear of their first meeting returning to its eyes. It simultaneously began to sit up and attempt to scoot away from him, pleading in some mannish or dwarven tongue he did not understand. Pain halted its progress, but not its complaints.

He set the knife down and took the dwarf’s hand in both of his, murmuring soft words that the dwarf could not have understood. It bent over again in pain, it’s breathing coming with difficulty. Gently, he helped the dwarf lay down again, its struggle ceased but not, apparently, its distress. Its eyes shut tightly as tears escaped, running down into its thick mane.

He had not known dwarves to be so affected by pain, but this one appeared to be young, perhaps, although he could not be certain. He brushed away a tear with the pad of his thumb; the dwarf flinched beneath him and grumbled something that might have been a curse.

He sighed and began his task again, undoing clasps and lacing, pulling away the stained clothing as gently as he could; there was no avoiding what must be done, after all. He knew little of dwarves, but had patched up his companions many times, and had tended to many creatures of the forest. Despite the tensions between their respective races, Halordin had an inkling that if he didn’t tend to it, if it died in his arms, he would regret it for a long, long time. If nothing else, the wound needed to be washed and bound, lest it become inflamed and diseased.

He moved to kneel in front of the dwarf and lift it, leaning it gently forward against his chest as he worked its arms out of layers -  light chainmail, a leather jerkin, a linen tunic and finally a thin undershirt, slowly unsticking the material at last from the torn flesh beneath, the uruk’s heavy blade having cleaved through all.

He nearly dropped the dwarf’s head against the stone a moment later, so great was his shock at what lay beneath.

They didn’t exist. Everyone knew they didn’t exist. There were none. They sprang living from the stone, did they not? They sprang living from the stone, and to stone they returned upon death. What use was there for… this?

“What is it?”

One of his company must have heard his gasp. He leaned around the wall of stone to give him reassurance that nothing was amiss, desperate that the others not approach. No, that would not do. Not at all.

What does it matter if they know?

Suddenly he could not stand the thought of them knowing, of them seeing her. He swallowed thickly and pulled a clean cloth from his pack and turned to wet it in the pool behind them.

The dwarf had rolled away from him, curling in upon herself. Fresh blood was flowing over her rib cage, thin rivulets tracing across her skin and pooling beneath her. She stiffened at his touch at first, as he washed away the blood and scrubbed at the torn skin and flesh. He spoke to her in low tones, empty platitudes pouring from his lips while grumbling and the occasional hitch in breath escaped from hers.

Why did the sight of her suffering affect him so? It pained him; he did not know why. She is a dwarf. Greedy, untrustworthy and unsightly, that is what he has been told since time immemorial.

The wound was clean, finally, though still trickling blood. He pulled her up to sit between his outstretched legs, one long-fingered elven hand supporting her at the soft nape of her neck as the other held fresh cloth firmly to staunch the bleeding. She felt slightly feverish, heat rising from her skin as he leaned over her. He slowly lowered her weight to rest against his breast as he pulled more bandaging from his bag, reaching around her to begin wrapping the strip of cloth around her, somewhat awkwardly as he tried to avoid her breasts and keep her long, soft beard from becoming trapped without actually touching either.

At some point she’d begun to relax, her muscles loosening and her breathing still shallow but more even. Her head was cocked to the side now as she peered up at him with a curious expression he could not read. She pressed back into him more firmly, her hands coming up to grasp almost possessively at the long arms now wrapped about her torso.

He felt his face heat and redden, but he did not know why he should care. As he moved to pull away from her, her grip on his arms tightened and she made a small noise.

Why?

They remained like this as minutes passed. The dwarf in his arms seemed to grow even heavier against him as he peered out into the darkness. He looked down; she was asleep. Careful not to disturb her wound, he moved until they were both laying flat, his cloak underneath her against the chill of the stone.

The night grew old and she did not awaken, but managed to pull herself firmly into him, her head pillowed against his shoulder and an arm and a leg thrown heedlessly across him. Her hair was soft against his neck, not silky like the hair of an elf but soft, warm and thick.

His thoughts wandered as his fingers wound themselves into the dwarf’s beard. He shouldn’t, he knew, but had any elf ever seen, or touched–? She stretched against him, murmuring through her beard but not waking, her long eyelashes fluttering slightly. Almost without awareness of it, he stroked softly at her, his fingers wandering through her mane.

Everything about her was alien to him, but he was not repulsed, as he felt he perhaps ought to be. As most elves undoubtedly would be.

A dwarf!

Why?

She stirred and turned to gaze at him in the dark. She did not seem troubled by their closeness any longer, nor her own partial nakedness. He continued his attentions to her beard and she did not protest. He ran gentle fingertips over the fine hair and skin between her breasts; she did not move. He grew bold and palmed her soft, heavy breasts and the firmer roundness of her belly. She had the hint of a smile as he touched her, exploring her skin.

Why am I doing this? Why is she allowing it?

He breathed the night air deeply, the arm wrapped around her pulling her closer while the other stilled upon her. She reached up with one hand and placed it over the back of his, pushing his palm under the blanket of her beard over her heartbeat.

The One Ring passed through Lothlorien not so long ago, they say. If all goes ill to the South, none of this will matter.

Perhaps her thoughts were the same; he could not know. Darkness now poured out from Mordor and every stronghold of the enemy, a darkness which may soon cover all. Halordin had desired to stay in Arda for countless seasons, but with the shadow looming ever larger, could he even make it safely to the Havens and flee West now?

And what of the world left behind? What of this one lost dwarf?

He could hear one of his companions singing softly beyond the shelf of stone concealing him and his dwarf. Another sharpened a blade while a third repaired the fletching of his arrows. The dwarf soon slept again, her smaller hand still laying over his. He closed his own eyes, as if in the sleep of mortals, the heartbeat of his strange companion his only comfort.


End file.
